


Five Times Harley Came On To Floyd and One Time He Did Something About It

by roguefembot



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: ? sort of, Angst and Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Humor, Quinnshot - Freeform, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, also, harley is a dirty bird, poor communication between sociopathic crushes, squad bonding, too - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefembot/pseuds/roguefembot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's pretty sure she's in love with him. Which means it's about time she let him screw her.</p><p>(If he'd ever pick up on her hints.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Harley Came On To Floyd and One Time He Did Something About It

**Author's Note:**

> honestly...... blame will and margot for having too much on-screen chemistry

i.

At some point, Floyd warningly calling out Harley’s name every five seconds during a mission shifted from an accepted nuisance to a welcome comfort. Even hearing him say her name started sprouting fledgling butterflies in her stomach, and now that Mister J’s been muzzled back into Arkham Asylum with joint efforts from the squad and the bat, Harley can admit that she actually kind of _craves_ Floyd’s constant presence.

There’s more to it than that though, because she's never liked beards but she kind of wants to shove her face in his, and when he's gentle, his fingertips a ghost on her back or at the knuckles of her right hand before a battle, she feels goosebumps that aren't a shock of terror to her system. Even his dumb tilted smirk when he’s hit fifty targets in a row is charming. So, y’know, she’s pretty sure she’s in love with him.

Which means it’s about time that she let him fuck her.

The only problem is that Floyd isn’t picking up on any of her hints, and she’s already tried some of her best material. When they were donning their suits before the mission and he had some pistol trouble, she let him know she’d gladly handle his gun if he couldn’t get it working. He shot her a puzzled look before telling her that he could clean his own barrel. When they needed to hotwire a car, she glibly informed that she was an expert at stick shift. Floyd told her he’d been driving a ’69 Chevy for years. And now that she’s just watched him blow the head off a drug-induced zombie, his mouth titled all cocky like he’s proud even though there’s a whole hoard approaching from behind him? Well, it’s the perfect opportunity for her to narrowly miss his left ear with the whiz of her bullet, nailing the closest of the rapidly gaining baddies between the eyes.

“I give great head, too,” she smirks. He only just barely smiles before spinning on his heel to mow down the onslaught with a constant stream of firepower, and she’s left pouting all the way until the end of the mission.

It’s possible he doesn’t even notice for several hours, because it’s not until they’re back on the helicopter that Floyd nudges her knee with his own, a troubled furrow in his brow.

“Why’s your face all-“ he waves at his own face in vague circles, clearly inept at describing the emotion in her expression.

“Disappointed?” she prompts, popping the gum in her mouth with a chomp of her jaw. “I don’t know, Floydsy, maybe it’s because my bestest buddy didn’t wanna play any games with me today.”

“Oh, that’s what that was?” he asks. At her confirmation, he nods his head along and turns more fully towards her. “Right, well.” He clears his throat. Pauses. Then a slow smile pulls at his lips. “I was thinkin’ when you slipped into that shirt that you might let me show you how I’d slip into your bedroom later.”

A delighted squeal falls from her lips, her hands clapping together as Floyd’s smile deepens. “I knew you had it in you!” she says, seizing him by the shoulders and making to kiss him quickly, but he goes shy from her compliment at the very moment that she grabs him, so the tilt of his head forces her lips to land somewhere between the corner of his mouth and his cheek.

He misses her slight disappointment and manages a “I got some tricks up my sleeve, doll face” before the helicopter abruptly lands, and then he’s standing and heading on back to his cell like nothing’s new.

“Well, wasn’t that a tizzy,” she gripes, mood overly cloudy. Digger chuckles as he passes by her, so she lobs her baseball bat at his ass and smirks when he stumbles.

 

ii.

Harley figures the next time she sees Floyd she needs to go for a more hands-on approach, so when they’re let out of their cells for another mission (something about cyborgs – it’s hard to pay attention to Flag’s sulking bore of a face when she could be formulating ways to let Floyd know she’s down for climbing him like a tree), she goes for a halter with a zipper at the back and whistles for Floyd’s attention.

“Little help, Hotshot?” she motions to herself. He looks around like he’s not convinced she really means him, and then it clicks. The mask he’d been fiddling ritualistically gets flung back into his trunk before he strides over, and if nothing else, the enthusiasm is encouraging.

“All the way up?” he asks, hands already poised at the base of the zipper. His breath is close and warm at her ear, and it’s a fucking cliché that it gives her goosebumps.

“Unless I got too much junk in the trunk.” He must catch the callback because he breathes a little chuckle that dances on the nape of her neck. The actual motion of zipping up her shirt goes a tad quicker than she would’ve preferred, but he lingers for a second of warmth before he backs off and retreats to his trunk.

“Thanks for the help!” she calls, hefting her bat over her shoulder. The side of Floyd’s mouth curls. It causes a new idea to sprout in her head, but she figures it’s best to wait until there’s downtime during the mission.

That plan only lasts about three hours, because they’re about three hours into the mission now and they still haven’t spotted a single goddamn cyborg. Flag is convinced they’re close by and Floyd is playing along, but Harley knows better. The buggers will show up when they’re good and ready.

She catches up to Floyd then with a conspiratorial tilt to her head, her body a little too close as they’re wont to do when they’re talking lowly to one another.

“You up for another game?” she proposes. Floyd’s eyeing her skeptically.

“What kinda game?” He’s a little gruff but mostly curious, so when she smirks and slows her gate, she knows he’ll follow suit. It doesn’t take long for the group to pass them by, curious glances immediately distracted by the need to cover their bases. When she’s sure no one is looking, Harley grabs for Floyd’s free hand and hauls him into an empty alleyway branching off the street.

“Is the game Grab Hands?” he jokes. She takes advantage of his distraction and pins him against the wall, palms flat on his chest.

“Sort of…” She bites her lip. Floyd tilts his head, expression carefully neutral in that way he’s trained himself to be. If she weren’t so close, she wouldn’t catch the little hitch of his breath that lets her know he’s not about to shove her off.

“It goes like this,” she says lowly, tracing his jawline with nimble fingertips that hesitate around his beard. Her free hand tugs at his collar as she moves to nuzzle his neck, and when her mouth closes in on his pulse point, Floyd’s jaw makes a little popping noise before it goes slack.

She likes to lick her handiwork when she’s done, and Floyd’s reaction to that is pulling her in flush against him. They’re liable to get distracted here for a while, what with the way Harley can feel the bulge in his pants against the thigh she’s got between his legs, but there’s a little snap of a twig nearby and her ears perk on instinct.

She doesn’t need to see the creeping shadow to know something’s behind them, and with razor sharp reflexes she’s extricated herself from Floyd and her gun from its holster, the barrel already pointed at some ugly motherfucker with human skin glued haphazardly to its mostly synthetic body. Obviously a cyborg – she shoots before it can grab at her, turns back to Floyd and finds that he’s blinking like he’s just woken up from a dream.

“You got a death wish or something?” he demands. He sounds pissed.

With a purse of her lips and a cock of her hips, she shoots back, “Don’t act like you weren’t lookin’ to walk on the wild side.”

He shakes his head then, grabs for her hand and starts dragging her back towards where the group is likely gathered. Even when he’s mad, his grip doesn’t hurt.

“I’m not looking to get fucked with, Harley.”

She bites back the instinct to reply _I’m just looking to **get** fucked, **Floyd**._

 

iii.

They get let out for recreation sometimes too, now that they’re big-time heroes that regularly save the world and shit. It’s not actually _outside_ the walls of Belle Reve unless it’s a mission reward, it just means they get to throw a basketball at a hoop or lift some weights every couple of days.

She finds Floyd sitting at a bench next to their rundown basketball court one of these times, his back to the fiasco of Digger repeatedly running into the wall that is Croc’s offensive stance.

“You still in a pissy mood?” she asks, sitting at the bench across from him. She’s wielding a lollipop in her hand.

“Nah,” he shrugs, looking up at her. “And I was not pissy.”

Harley’s eyebrows rise. “Sure you weren’t.” She twirls her lollipop.

“Nah, see, you say ‘pissy,’ I say ‘trying to make sure we don’t both die.’”

“Good thing I shot that cyborg thing, then, huh?” she grins teasingly. He nods, relenting.

He’s not looking at her when she first slips the lolly into her mouth. She swirls it around a bit, her tongue catching at the ridges before she pulls it out with a loud pop. That catches his attention; he looks up just in time for her to slide it back into her mouth, fingers pinched at the stem so she can twirl it.

“This another game?” His voice is level – unreadable just like his facial expression.

Harley just shrugs, her lips twitching around the lollipop. She’s pretty sure she’s got Floyd right where she wants him, even if he doesn’t want her to know where that is. Just to test it, she uncrosses her legs. Floyd’s eyes follow, lids hooded a bit as his jaw slackens. She suctions the sucker again, pulls it out victoriously and then licks the length of it.

Floyd’s gaze suddenly darkens. “Harley.” Sounds like a warning.

She responds by spreading her legs a little further apart.

“Deadshot, we need you in the conference room!” Flag suddenly beckons, his voice broadcasted over the intercom.

Floyd swipes at his nose with the back of his hand, abruptly standing up and marching away.

Harley just sighs and props her legs up where he was sitting.

“Am I not fuckable anymore or somethin’?” she wonders aloud, knowing that Digger’s been paying way too much attention to the exchange.

“I’ll fuck ya!” he calls.

Croc lowly adds, “Me too.”

Harley swats at the air, but there’s a growing manic smile on her face. “Thanks for sayin’ so, guys.”

 

iv.

Harley knows that she’s about as subtle as a spike-studded bulldozer with bedazzled pink rims. Floyd probably knows this as well, because everyone knows this, and it’s starting to stretch the bounds of believability that he still hasn’t figured out what she wants from him. It’s just discouraging enough that when they complete another mission and are rewarded with a night at a dance club, she downs two shots of liquid courage right off the bat – and then another two later, until Floyd’s hovering at her elbow and silently worrying about her while trying to pretend that he’s not.

“Dance with me?” she requests suddenly, hands fiddling with the collar of his dress shirt. He cleans up well, and the concerned furrow of his brow is absurdly cute. It’s disgusting how much she wants him.

“I don’t- I don’t dance,” he protests. She’s already tugging him towards a sea of bodies.

“C’mon, dance with me!” she insists in an ascending pitch, bouncing on her heels. “Floyd!”

Even if he wanted to protest further, he’s already let her drag him into the middle of the dance floor.

“Well,” he sighs. “Since we’re here and all.”

Her delighted grin is matched by a tempered one of his own, and when he places his hands on her hips she spins, backing herself against him and rocking with the music. He’s not rhythmically challenged in the least, hips easily matching the pace of her own.

“What was that about not dancing?” she taunts, arms collecting behind his neck so that his head is forced to rest near her ear.

“I said I didn’t dance, not that I _couldn’t_ ,” he clarifies.

Harley responds by grinding herself against him a little more forcefully. The pacing of the music changes then, what was once wild and rough bleeding into something more sensual. She slows her movements but doesn’t move away, watches Floyd’s profile closely to gauge his reaction. He only swallows.

“What is it?” she says suddenly, quiet wonder in her voice. If she had ever even had a filter, the booze had certainly dissolved it. “You don’t like me?”

Floyd’s eyes snap to hers. There’s confusion in the scrunch of his forehead. “What’re you talking about, doll face?”

Abruptly turning in his arms, she meets his eyes and rests her hands on his chest. They’re just barely swaying to the music.

“You never wanna play anymore,” she pouts with a bat of her lashes. There’s a flash of blue light from above them, passing over the dance floor, and it illuminates Floyd’s rather serious face.

“I don’t wanna play those kinds of games with you.” Harley’s not too drunk to know that this is an admission of some kind, something quiet and sincere that he holds close to his chest.

“Why not?” she pushes. His words aren’t a rejection, she doesn’t think, but they could be.

Floyd blows out a breath of air, half chuckle and half sigh. “You’re drunk,” he says.

Harley grabs hold of his chin and forces him to look her in the eye. “No, Floyd, I’m not.”

He’s quiet for a long moment then, his gaze steady and intense on hers. “Let me take you home.”

“Yeah?” she asks, perhaps a bit too pleased at the implication.

“Yeah. You like Disney, right? Zoe’s always watching Disney.”

To say she deflates would be an understatement.

Twenty minutes later and she’s wedged between Zoe and Floyd on the couch, arms crossed and grimace set while Floyd snores away to her left. It’s not all bad, though, because he’s fallen asleep with his arm around her shoulders and every ten minutes or so Zoe asks her questions about whatever they’re watching. When they get far enough into the plot of a particular show, Zoe asks who Harley’s favorite character is so far.

She tells her she likes the two youngest kids in the b-plot because they’re cute and make her think about how cute _her_ kids will be. Y’know, when she has kids.

(Preferably with Floyd.)

((That is, if he’d pull his head out of his ass long enough to fuck her.))

 

v.

The fact of the matter is that Floyd _didn’t_ answer her question the other night. But he clearly hates games, so, straightforward and blunt Harley is a go. She doesn’t know why she didn’t do this sooner.

 _This_ , by the way, being standing in the men’s locker room in nothing but her underwear after bribing Digger and Croc to fuck off during gym time. She’s decided she’s gonna let Floyd walk in on her fiddling with her heels, so she’s been standing with her back to the door, hunched over a bench with her fingers resting on a half-done clasp for the last five minutes.

Impatience gets the better of her and she huffs, “I swear to God, Fl-“ just as the sound of the door opening reaches her ears. She abruptly cuts off, fingers deftly finishing the clasp of her heel as Floyd shuffles in.

“Harley?” He trails off, clearly at a loss, so she gives him a long moment to check out her pink lace and impeccable ass before she straightens and turns towards him, wanton smile in place.

“Hiya!” she greets. He doesn’t _immediately_ jump her bones, unfortunately, but he’s definitely still checking her out. So much so that he hasn’t met her eyes quite yet and his jaw is back to slackening in that telltale way it does. She’s starting to appreciate the look.

“What are you…” Apparently unable to finish the thought once more, he furrows his brows and tilts his head at her. She, in turn, begins her approach.

“No games,” she promises, “I want you, okay?” He nods silently and enthusiastically, so when she’s close enough, she forgoes all pretense and pulls him in by the lapels of his orange jumpsuit. He (finally finally _finally_ ) kisses her, meeting her halfway and wrapping his arms around her waist.

It’s exactly as gentle as she pictured it would be – Floyd’s lips are a sweet brush, his fingers a careful caress along her bare back. Even when he backs her into a nearby locker, he feels for the cool of the metal first and then eases her backwards, his mouth chasing hers all the while. For her part, she focuses on stroking the back of his neck, tracing the muscles in his shoulders, and pulling him closer with splayed palms at his skull.

With his tongue gliding against hers and his hands inching towards the elastic of her panties, she begins to almost expect the other shoe to drop. There should be teeth in his kiss, her hair in a clenched fist, bruised skin stained yellow from a too-tight grip. The absence of pain is off, the coolness of the locker at her back and the warmth of his body against her front a dizzying combination.

She doesn’t realize she’s shaking until Floyd’s already pulled away, hands retreating to her elbows.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

She’s not. She’d answer if her teeth weren’t chattering.

“Shit,” he curses, but it’s so quiet. He’s still so sweet. “I got a towel in my locker, one sec.”

And then he’s retreating, fumbling at his locker code and hurrying to help her. It feels like she’s watching him from a distance, her words and thoughts locked deep inside her own mind until she’s completely incapacitated. She can’t even open her mouth for oxygen.

He returns with the towel a moment later. She’s able to reach out to him, at least, so he wraps the towel around her tightly and then pulls her into a warm hug.

Slowly, slowly, she’s able to breathe again.

 

i.

A couple days later, Griggs shows up at her cell with a disgruntled little glare and a shuffle to his step.

“Fl-oyd,” he chews at the name, “wants to know if you’ll visit him for a bit.”

A devious smirk pulls at Harley’s lips. “What’d he do to ya?”

“Nothing!” Griggs puffs out his chest a bit. “Just traded in a mission reward with the higher ups.”

Harley absorbs this information for a moment, feels her smirk melt into something soft and genuine.

“Okay!” she claps, a newfound bounce in her step. “Take me to him, Griggsy.”

He motions for the control room to unlock her cages, and then he and four guards lead her down the hallway. For maybe the first time since she’s been in this hell hole, she doesn’t fight against their grips. She even lets them prod her into Floyd’s cell like cattle, forcefully locking the door behind her.

Floyd rises from his bed. Scratches at his head. Offers a small smile. “Hey.”

Harley smiles back, a playful glint in her eye. “Heard you requested me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, eyes falling to the ground as he furrows his eyebrows. When he looks up, he’s hesitant. “You alright?”

Now, here’s the problem with the whole breaking-down-in-Floyd’s-arms ordeal: it only made Harley want him even _more_. Where there might’ve been a shred of doubt about whether she loves him or not before, there certainly isn’t anymore. She needed him in that moment, needed his comfort and reassurance and stability. Maybe she just needs him, period. Maybe she needs to embrace that.

“Yeah,” she says finally, voice soft.

He doesn’t answer back with anything, just swallows and stares at her for a very long time. Almost like he’s trying to figure her out. It’s the same kind of look he’d given her a million nights ago, her poised with fake cheeriness on top of a cop car and him filled with some unidentifiable emotion. He’s always filled with some unidentifiable emotion.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, trudges over to plant a big ole kiss on his lips. He only kisses back for a moment before he’s pulling away, strange look still on his face. Harley’s own expression pinches in disgruntlement.

“We don’t have t-“ He cuts himself off, starts over: “If you’re not r-“ Then he sighs, and it’s clear he’s frustrated because he doesn’t know how to do this. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t annoying as all hell. She’s not a delicate little doll, no matter how vulnerable her display had been the other night.

“Alright, mistah, listen up,” she starts, poking at his chest. The sheer volume of her voice must catch him off guard, because his eyes snap to hers. “I’ve got an itch I’ve been tryin’ to get you to scratch for _weeks_ now. Whatever that shaky shit was the other night, I’m over it. And I’m not playin’ games with you, because the whole reason I started this in the first place is because I think you’re the only one I _want_ to scratch my itch. I’m not sayin’ I love you or anything, but-“

That’s as far as she gets before he’s kissing her, hands in her hair and at her back and pressed into her hips. He backs her towards the nearest wall and hefts her up against it, lips never leaving hers and attention never wavering.

It only takes a moment more before she snaps out of it.

“Wait, are you kiddin’ me?” she demands, shoving at his chest. Her legs are still wrapped around his waist, so he’s not going anywhere. “That’s all I had to say?!”

Floyd’s wearing that gentle smirk he gets when she’s said something he finds particularly entertaining.

“It’s not funny, you dickhead!”

“Harley,” he placates, voice deep and warm. “I’m not sayin’ I love you either.”

The softness in his face betrays his words, and she finds herself softening against him in turn. There’s a genuinely touched upward curve of her lips, a happy glint shining in her eyes.

“Bullshit.”

He’s smiling as he kisses her again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanted to leave kudos/comments/etc., that would be super cool. if you wanted to check out my tumblr (roguefembot), that would also be super cool. hope you have a super cool day!!!!


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